


Nectar

by neonbees



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Fraldarius Family Drama, Gen, Sylvain is there, Tears, accidental violence, felix suffers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21813505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonbees/pseuds/neonbees
Summary: Felix is accustomed to seeing the dead walk. He'd first seen it with Dimitri, so many years ago. His best friend had died and something else had settled into his skin, a beast that made a mockery of a man. This is something else. This is something that sends dread through his veins, the slow poison of nausea into his body as the corpse eats in front of him.Across the table, Glenn catches sight of him and smiles, teasing. The corners of his eyes crinkle with delight. "Come on, little Fe. Aren't you going to eat?"A 'Glenn's Alive' AU
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Glenn Fraldarius, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 7
Kudos: 63
Collections: FE3H Holiday Gift Exchange





	Nectar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rime/gifts).



> Gift for Rime/@Letrasette for the Fe3h Gift Exchange!  
> You actually followed me on twitter 1 week after the exchange went out. I was all. 'does she know...' [kill bill sirens]
> 
> Prompts were : Angst & Something I haven't Seen Done  
> Back when I first came up with the idea, I hadn't seen a lot of Glenn's alive fics. So, here's my take on it :)  
> I hope you enjoy!

The bite of winter is vicious, pulling at his cloak and scraping cold claws against his back. Stronger still is his anger. Felix tugs the reins of his horse, urging it faster against the snow. Galatea is frigid, but he will be going further still. Fraldarius territory lies ahead, and with it comes violence. 

The war has reached his doorstep, but his quest lies incomplete. 

The boar is— 

_ Dimitri is—  _

The thought hurts, echoing the pain of an open wound. Felix had thought he was stronger than this. He should not be letting himself be strung along by his selfish desires. But Dimitri’s body had never been found, and Rodrigue and Gilbert had established that to mean Dimitri yet lived. And so, Felix had let himself hope. Let himself be drawn into a search with no end in sight. 

For a year and some, Felix had given himself over to the hunt. He had taken care of only his baser needs, of food and drink and nothing more. Shelter was an indulgence, and if his quest had him spending weeks in the woods, tracking the trail of a phantom, so be it. Felix had traveled all across Faerghus; he’d neared even the capital and Dukedom-controlled territory. The risk had been worth the chance of finding something.

Before, he hadn’t realized how much he would give for Dimitri, how quickly he would put his life on the line for him. He wishes he’d never found out.

In his haze of search and desire, he had neglected everything and everyone else.  _ Rodrigue understood _ , Felix thought spitefully. But his search was not born out of duty: finding Dimitri was a need baser than that. Felix has always felt so, so strongly. He can’t find it in himself to kill these emotions, not when they are all he has left. 

But winter had turned colder, and its winds had brought letters. A chance encounter with a soldier gave him all the information required. Fraldarius needed him. Felix would return home. His father hadn’t put his need into words, but Felix could read into what the attacks on Fraldarius territory meant. For their need, he would return.

And it wasn’t as if he’d found anything anyway. Fighting would help with the sinking despair he felt. He‘d had no new information on Dimitri’s whereabouts, not since the day of his execution. Dimitri was either dead, as the Empire had spoken of, or he had long since reached the point where he was nothing more than a living corpse, and there was nothing Felix nor his father could do to find a body that no longer belonged to a prince. 

Felix would have given his all for even a rumor. 

There is no hope to keep him warm as he rides. There is only his anger, and it is a poor comfort. But it is reliable, and Felix leans into the fire of it. He is angry with himself, but more than that, he is angry with Dimitri and he is angry at his own weakness. He urges the horse faster with a squeeze of his thighs.

The approach to his home is treacherous at this time of year, but Felix knows these roads like the back of his hand. And it is better that others cannot easily get in. As the looming towers come into view, there is something soothing about seeing the flag flutter overhead. He doesn’t look into that feeling too much. Family is not something to take solace in. Fighting is a better comfort, he tells himself.

Felix shoves his hood down, letting the gatesman recognize him. His horse must sense that rest is finally to be found because even the beast seems to pick up as it crosses the gate. Felix dismounts and his feet hit the cobbled flooring of the courtyard with a soft  _ whump _ . Weariness hits him then, and he nearly sways before he catches himself. 

He can’t remember the last time he ate a true meal. Anything that would distract from his mission was unnecessary. Felix could not have cared less on what others thought was necessary—his desperation drove him past his limits. And even with that, he still hadn’t been able to  _ find  _ him. 

Felix hands his horse off to a servant and hurries inside. His father’s steward greets him. Rodrigue is away, but he will return shortly. 

“And we’ll have you something to eat,” the man promises, with a sharp look at Felix. 

He grunts a reply, and the man’s gaze turns pitying. It is worse than a rebuke. How far has Felix fallen, really? His temper flares, but it is offset by his weariness. He won’t let himself be taken care of, like some child; but he can accept the help offered to him.

Stew has never tasted so good. Felix spears a potato and thinks of Garreg Mach. That was the last time he’d had something so filling. 

Later, in the baths, Felix has his first chance to look at himself. He had considered avoiding it, at least until he was clean and rested, but he won’t shy away from the truth. A beast stares back at him from the mirror. As he scowls, so does the creature. 

Arming himself with soap and a cloth, Felix sets to work beating the thing back. As he sinks into the warm water, he lets himself think of Dimitri again. His chest aches from where he’d rubbed at his skin. There is no other reason. 

Belatedly, he lets himself think of Ingrid and Sylvain, and his other classmates too: Mercedes, Ashe.  _ Annette _ . What happened to them all? Are they alive? If Sylvain had passed, Felix would know if it, he determined. He was not so far gone that news of Gautier would not reach him. 

Did Sylvain know the same? 

Felix would not join Dimitri yet. He owed him nothing more. 

It felt like a lie even to his own mind. 

When he leaves the baths Felix’s fingertips were deep with creases, and when he finally returns to his rooms, he is asleep before he even hits the sheets. 

Felix wakes to the midday sun with a scowl on his face. He’s never liked sleeping in. Still, he supposes that he needed it. When he gets out of bed, he feels more like himself than he has in a year. 

Servants bustle excitedly about, and from the chatter Felix surmises that Rodrigue has returned. And more than that, something  _ big _ has happened. It must be good. If it wasn’t, someone would have woken him. Felix is directed to the dining room when he tries to find out.

And there it is.

There is a corpse at the dining table. 

Felix is accustomed to seeing the dead walk. He'd first seen it with Dimitri, so many years ago. His best friend had died and something else had settled into his skin, a beast that made a mockery of a man. This is something else. This is something that sends dread through his veins, the slow poison of nausea into his body as the corpse eats in front of him.

Across the table, Glenn catches sight of him and smiles, teasing. The corners of his eyes crinkle with delight. "Come on, little Fe. Aren't you going to eat?" 

Felix says nothing, because if he does, he will vomit. He—  **it** is not Glenn, though it speaks in his voice, calls Felix by that nickname he hasn’t heard in so many years. He will not call it by the name it wants. “I’m half in bandages, and I’m still managing,” it continues, wiggling its hand at Felix. The fingers of the - thing (not his brother, Glenn is dead) are covered. As is most of its body. But the face? 

The face is heart-shaped, with sharp eyes and sharper eyebrows, and the cut of his chin is all Rodrigue. They have the same mouth, Felix notes, the same eye shape. He hadn’t— he hadn’t realized how much he’d started to look like Glenn. He’d forgotten. 

“Shut  _ up _ !” Felix spits. Once the words start, they don’t  _ stop _ . “You are  _ not _ Glenn. Do not look at me! Don’t speak with me using his voice, don’t—” Horrifyingly, his voice breaks, and he knows that his composure will fall next. He cannot— he is not that weak. 

He slams the door back and leaves the room, and he pretends he can’t hear the thing’s voice calling after him, “Felix! Hey— Felix, get back here! Come  _ on _ —”

His room is safe, at least. Felix is twenty, and his world has fallen apart three times to date. And yet, this is almost worse. The dead did not come back. Not like this.

And yet.

Is the ghost of Glenn here for him? Did he not look hard enough for Dimitri? 

Felix shudders under the thought, digging his nails tightly into the meat of his hands.

His heart may lay with the dead, but Felix has his life for the living.

Lives, so that this  _ creature _ may haunt him. Why does it wear Glenn’s face? He is not exceptional to deserve this punishment, nor is he religious enough to believe it a curse. He needs to do something. Wonderingly, Felix finds himself leaning against the wall of the hallway. When had it happened?

A passing servant startles him out of it. “Young Master Felix,” she greets, “you must have seen Master Glenn. Isn’t it great that he’s returned? He missed you, you know.”    
  
“What do you know?” he spits out. “Why have you let that  _ thing _ in? Where is my father?” If it has a hold of the servants, who knows what else it could have done. At least it cannot be only in his mind (or can it?), for she can see it too. “Glenn is dead. He cannot  _ return _ .”    
  
“Master Felix,” she says, with an air of concerned confusion, “do you need to see the healer? I can escort you, if you need.”   
  
“What? No. I need to see my father, urgently.”   
  
“I understand it might be hard to accept, him being away so long, but you shouldn’t say such a thing about your brother. In these times… You shouldn’t say that Master Glenn’s dead, not when we don’t know what could happen tomorrow.”   
  
Felix’s mind whirls, and for once, he is thankful he is still against the wall. She speaks as if— as if Glenn had never died in the first place. 

“Ah, I apologize for my impertinence, Master Felix, please exc—”   
  
“Where. Is. Rodrigue?”   
  
“He should be joining your broth—”   
  
It’s not the answer he wants to hear, but Felix storms back anyway, because at least he can confront the situation and be done with it  _ now _ .    
  
He pauses before the door to the dining room. Behind the thick oaken wood, he can hear the mumble of voices. His father must be one of them. The other would be— 

Felix keeps his hand on the handle and he tells himself to enter. 

Glenn is dead. This is some dark magic or some cunning lie, to bewitch the servants so. Felix may not respect Rodrigue, but he recognizes his talent in faith. He will not be pulled in as Felix himself is not. 

Faintly, he hears the sound of laughter. He must be hysterical, Felix thinks, but he’s not sure if he’s describing Rodrigue or himself. He pushes open the door and steps back into the room. 

The first thing he notices is the way Rodrigue keeps his hand on Glenn’s shoulder. The way he stands so close. The way he’s  _ smiling _ like he hasn’t in years. Because of— Felix catches himself before he can think of the creature as Glenn once again. It is not. It can’t be.

It sees him, because it stops mid-sentence, turning to face Felix. “Ah, there you are! I knew you’d be back. Couldn’t resist running back to big brother, huh?” It shakes its head, and Felix watches, hypnotized, at the fall of blue-black curls around its face. “Father told me you might be a bit… off at first. Otherwise, I’d say you’ve earned yourself a well-deserved thrashing. I’d take you to the courtyard myself, but—” It shrugs helplessly. “Guess old times will have to wait, huh?” 

“Felix,” Rodrigue says, with infinite patience. “You should sit down.”

Like in a dream, Felix finds himself stepping into the room, closer and closer to the dining table. His hand wraps around the ornate back of the chair. Touching something solid is grounding, and Felix centers himself. At his core, he finds his own rage. 

“Your son is  _ dead _ . You said it yourself,  _ Father _ . ‘He died like a true knight’. This is some imposter.” 

With certainty, Felix knows what he must do. His hand trembles as power builds under his fingertips. Thoron crackles around him, lighting arcing up and down his arm, and it builds and builds and— 

“ENOUGH!” Rodrigue shouts, and Felix’s magic dies, though his anger doesn’t. He’s been  _ Silenced _ . 

Felix snarls wordlessly. He picks up a butter knife, because he doesn’t have his sword (fool) and he needs something. He doesn’t make a move towards not-Glenn. He’ll wait for his chance.

“Felix,” Rodrigue begins, and there’s a weary sigh on his lips, “I know it is odd to see Glenn again when he has been gone so many years. Six years would be hard on anyone. But we should take this miracle for what it is. Glenn has returned to us, and though his recovery will be hard, we need to support him through it.” 

  
The light in his eyes when he looks at not-Glenn is almost blinding. Felix recognizes the adoration for what it is. Rodrigue truly believes this thing is his son. 

It’s not. It can’t be.  _ Glenn is dead _ , Felix repeats to himself, and he hates that he has to rely on his old pain in this moment. Over and over, like a mantra of hurt,  _ Glenn is dead, this isn’t him _ . Glenn is dead. 

Not-Glenn looks at him sadly. Its mouth is opened slightly in shock, as if it is truly offended that Felix had tried to Thoron it. “Felix,” it says softly, “Felix, please. I didn’t mean to leave for so long. But I am so, so glad to be here now. I would have  _ never _ left you like that if I’d had a choice.” 

Felix claws at his own mouth until he feels the release of magic. He won’t attack it now, not in front of Rodrigue. “I know you didn’t get a choice,” he hisses. “You died. We buried what scraps of you were left behind. That is what you left me with. You do not exist, imposter. And whatever hold you have over Rodrigue— I will find out, and I will end it.”

Rodrigue looks at him as if he’s  _ confused _ , like something is wrong with  _ Felix _ . "Why do you…,” he murmurs softly, eyes narrowed, before dismissing the words with a wave of his hand. “Felix. You  _ will _ accept your brother and you will cease your chatter of his death. Glenn is fragile right now. He was seriously injured at Duscur, yes, and it is only now that he has managed to return to us. He was being taken care of by monks at a small eastern monastery— living on the edge of life and death, until his full awakening and my retrieval. If you need more time, so be it. But you will not attack your brother again.”   
  
It cannot be possible, Felix tells himself. He attended Glenn’s funeral. But his memories suddenly feel heavy, dazed, and there’s a small, traitorous part of himself that he’d buried long ago. It whispers to him now. 

‘ _ Glenn’s back _ !’

“I refuse to speak with him,” Felix says, and it’s as good as a promise not to attack as his father will get. “Tell me where I am needed to fight. That’s all I want you to speak to me about.”

When he releases the chair, Gl— it stands too. Felix is caught in his—its ( _ Glenn is dead _ ) gaze. He drops his eyes, because if he keeps looking, Felix does not know what he will do. He drops the knife. He turns to leave and hears footsteps, and a thought catches him. It’s absurd, but if not-Glenn is some sort of phantom... he wouldn’t be solid?    
  
He’d seen Rodrigues hand on him. But Felix needs to know for himself. 

Felix wheels around, turning sharply to face Glenn’s hand, outstretched— to grab him. To prevent him from leaving. 

He grabs Glenn’s wrist tightly, but— Even through the bandages, he can feel something off. His fingers sink in too deeply. Something cracks under his grip. 

Felix jerks his hand back, eyes widening in stark horror. He feels— he doesn’t know what he’s feeling. 

This time, when he turns, Felix runs. 

He can feel Glenn’s haunted eyes following him out. 

The corridor is blessedly empty. Felix feels so very weak now. His breath comes short, and he catches his hands trembling. He clasps them together, a bastardization of piety. He feels like he needs it now. Goddess above. 

He’d broken Glenn’s wrist, he thinks. His brother’s back from the dead and the first thing Felix does is break him, and Rodrigue had Silenced him and he can’t do  _ anything _ . Couldn’t find Dimitri, couldn’t even have a conversation, couldn’t— couldn’t—

He shudders, helplessly, and he realizes his short breaths have turned into heaving sobs. 

The sound of footsteps echoes dully through the corridor, but Felix’s heartbeat feels louder. He can’t think around it, so he concentrates on breathing now because if he doesn’t, he thinks he might choke. “Leave,” he exhales heavily, “me. Alone.”   
  


“Alright.” Glenn’s voice comes, soft. “But Fe. Let me know if you need anything. I hate to see you hurting. I know it was an accident.”   
  
Felix sobs, and he curls his arms tighter around his head. 

Glenn is dead. 

He’s started thinking of it as Glenn now. 

Glenn is dead. 

When Felix comes back to himself, he is alone in the corridor. Disgusted, he wipes the tear tracks off of his face and tries to summon up his anger. He can’t— he only feels weak. He trudges out of the corridor, because even his weakness won’t stop him from moving forward. 

He finds himself in the training yard without thinking of it. 

He can hear the voices of some of the other knights as they practice. 

“Isn’t it great that Sir Glenn’s back now?”   
  
“I can’t wait to see him in action!”    
  
“He’s really a legend!”   
  
Felix tones them out with great effort and picks up his own sword. 

Still, the voices creep in. After an hour, he can’t stand it, and he heads inside. The rest of the day passes in something like a blur. He avoids dining with his family. Felix scrounges food from the kitchens. He gets the news from the postmaster, and more importantly, he sends out one letter.

‘Sylvain,

I need you to come to Fraldarius. It’s urgent.

glenn is back. my brother is here. 

Glenn died during the Tragedy of Duscur. You were at his funeral, weren’t you? 

Answer and come.

Felix’ 

There is a second letter, but it sits crumpled under Felix’s desk. The only word on it, written in dripping ink, is ‘Ingrid’. 

Felix heads to bed with a pounding headache. The weakness has abated slightly, now that he’s away from everyone. The anger in its place lets him push past the pulsing in his head. Glenn hadn’t felt human, when he’d touched him. 

It had felt like touching rotten meat. 

Felix sleeps fitfully. 

There is something soft brushing his head. Felix’s eyes remain closed and he lets himself relax into the sensations. Fingers brush against his scalp, soothing and repetitive. Over and over again. It almost lulls him back to sleep, but the creeping coldness in his body is pushing him to wakefulness. 

Felix opens his eyes and meets the blue of Glenn’s. He pulls back from where he’d been brushing Felix’s hair, and Felix tracks the movement. There are no bandages on Glenn’s hand. 

The right wrist is smooth and unblemished. 

Felix swallows, but his mouth feels dry. 

“Hey, little Fe,” Glenn says apologetically. “Didn’t mean to stay here this long. I just wanted to make sure you were feeling better. I know you don’t want to see me right now. Get better soon, okay?” 

His brother stands from where he’d been sitting on the side of the bed. “Oh, and before I forget— there’s a letter from Gautier waiting for you on your desk.” 

The second Felix hears the door close, he grabs for the envelope. He’s in the middle of ripping it open when he pauses.

How fast had the letter arrived? Or, he corrects himself, with narrowed eyes, how long had he been out? 

‘I’ll be there as soon as I can. 

Yes, I was at his funeral. I don’t know why you’re asking that, though. Has something happened? Tell me everything when I get there.

Sylvain’

  
The long loops of Sylvain’s handwriting make him feel better. Even more comforting than that, Felix thinks, is the knowledge that he was right to be suspicious of the situation. He squishes down the feelings of disappointment. He was a fool to ever think, even for a second, that Glenn had returned. 

Felix steps over to the fireplace in the room, stoking it to a pleasant flame. He’s still so cold. Even sitting as close as he can doesn’t do much against the chill. It was worse than it had been in Galatea, strangely. This cold hits to his core. At least his headache has subsided. 

He’d had to have slept for a whole day, at the very least. Gautier was close to Fraldarius, all things considered. He could just be overtired. But Glenn’s wrist— he’d broken it, hadn’t he? It isn’t possible for it to have healed that fast. 

Ignoring his chill, Felix exits his room to seek answers. A passing maidservant answers his questions. A day and some. And she hadn’t seen any injury on Glenn. 

Felix needs to get out of here and clear his head. Surely there’s something he can do. He needs to find the armsmaster, or the captain of the guards. More than that, he needs to not see Glenn. 

If it believes that it is his brother, so be it. He will use that knowledge against it. Felix tries to remember where his brother spent most of his time around Fraldarius castle. It’s harder than he thought it would be, to remember. His chest aches. Glenn enjoyed training as much as himself, and he enjoyed horses far more. Unfortunately, those are the two places Felix thinks he needs to be. He’ll just. Pretend he doesn’t see him. 

Somehow, Felix makes it to the captain without catching sight of his not-brother. He’s wondering how when he remembers what Rodrigue said: Glenn is weak right now. Of course. Felix’s talk with the captain is quick. There is always something to be done in wartime, and Felix is able-bodied and willing. He gets himself added to the latest expedition of Knights, this one a simple task to put down some bandits in the region. They can’t let bandits get a foothold, not with morale as low as it is. Not when there’s a chance there could be Imperial infiltrators among them. 

As Felix rides out with them, he can feel his mood lifting. The farther away he is from the castle, the better he feels. He can think more clearly too. He needs to write to Mercedes, or perhaps Annette, about this. They would know more about the realms of magic and its possibilities. He wishes, not for the first time, that their professor was still with them.

He wishes he had found Dimitri. Dimitri had seen Glenn’s body, hadn’t he? But wishes are not for him, and as Felix grips the hilt of his sword, he thinks that he will work to his own reality. 

When Felix returns, Sylvain is there. 

Sylvain is there, talking to Glenn. There is a sharp strike of fear that Felix shoves down. Sylvain is— he is a practiced liar. Felix knows that. Still, he can’t help the derision he feels. Couldn’t Sylvain just  _ wait? _

The closer Felix gets, the weaker he feels. He pushes through it with gritted teeth. “Sylvain,” he hisses, “come with me.”   
  
“You’re back, Felix.” Glenn laughs as he turns, slapping Sylvain on the back. “I was just showing this brat his place. You know, Sylvain’s gotten  _ so  _ tall since I last saw him! What happened to respect for your elders, huh?”    
  
“Aww, c’mon, Glenn,” Sylvain says, recovering from the pat with a wince. “Not going to pull your punches for your favorite Gautier?”   
  
“Maybe. When are you going to pull your head out of your ass?” Glenn rebukes in that harsh way of his that has Felix aching. He can’t watch this anymore. How can Sylvain  _ do _ this to him?    
  
“Bastards,” Felix seethes, and he shifts to exit. 

  
“Language,” Glenn reprimands, like he has the  _ right _ —

“Felix, wait— I’ll be back, Glenn.” Sylvain rushes off after him, but Felix shakes off his hand. It’s only when they get inside, and away from  _ it _ **_,_ ** that Felix deigns to stop. 

  
“How dare you,” he spits. “I asked you— I needed you, and you turn around and— and—” He stews in his anger, deep and pervasive and painful, and Felix can’t stop. “Why wouldn’t you— why would you talk to it? You read my letter!” 

“Why wouldn’t I talk to— it? Glenn? Are you mad at him, Felix? I know he’s been gone—”   
  
“Sylvain,” Felix says, and it’s the tone of voice that makes his friend stop in his tracks. Felix’s mind whirls. There’s something off here, something worse than just the injury, and the feeling and— “Sylvain,” he repeats, “when did Glenn die?”   
  
“What are you talking about, Felix? He was badly injured, but he didn’t  _ die. _ ”    
  
“Come with me,” Felix commands, jerking Sylvain forward with his voice. Felix won’t risk someone overhearing him. Not when there is something so awful as this. He has seen some twisted things, some twisted power. He hasn’t seen anything like this. He’s not sure how he can fight it. 

Felix leads Sylvain to a disused part of the castle. He remembers, faintly, hiding out here when they were children. Hide-and-seek with Glenn. The words mean something so different now. 

Felix has never been  _ good _ with words. He’s not sure how he can express this. How he can get Sylvain to believe him, when whatever is happening seems to have affected even his father. But he can’t think of anything else to do. “Sylvain,” he starts, “I need you to trust me.”   
  
“Of course I trust you, Felix.” Sylvain rolls his eyes. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”   
  
“Be serious, for once in your goddess-damned life!” Felix squeezes his hands tightly, but he draws in a deep breath. His feelings are not his allies in this. “Sylvain. I need you to believe me when I say this. Can you do that?”   
  
Sylvain looks struck, but he nods. The best Felix can do is hope. 

“Glenn died six years ago in the Tragedy of Duscur.” Felix inhales and keeps going. “He died. Dimitri was the only survivor. We had nothing back of him but his armor, but his death was confirmed. My father… He wouldn’t have accepted anything but the truth.”

Sylvain is watching with glittering eyes. Felix is thankful, though he wouldn’t admit it, that he’s not trying to speak. “This Glenn… My brother is dead. This thing cannot be him. When I first saw it, it was covered in bandages. When I touched him… It was like touching rotten flesh. I— I snapped its wrist accidentally. The next day, he was healed completely. And I was bedridden.”   
  


Felix’s own last words make him think of something else: the weakness he feels the closer he gets to the castle— the closer he gets to his not-brother. He doesn’t say that aloud. 

“Whenever the servants or even my father speak of Glenn— it’s like he never died. They don’t remember it! It’s ‘he disappeared for six years’. His death seems to have been erased. That’s what happened to you. I have— I have your letter!” It’s something like a victory, in his mind. He can prove to Sylvain. “You wrote that he was dead, he’s done something—”   
  
“Stop, Felix.” Sylvain takes hold of his forearm. Felix hadn’t realized he was trembling again until that moment. “I believe you, okay? You wouldn’t— You’ve never lied to me, Felix. I believe you. This Glenn isn’t your real brother.”

The relief he feels is sweeping. The absolute trust in him Sylvain is showing... Felix hadn’t  _ known _ Sylvain would do that. It’s the reassurance of Sylvain’s presence when he comforted him as a child. Felix feels that again.    
  
He has never been one for love and romance, never had the time to think of such things, not with the academy and then with  _ Dimitri _ . But there is something about the trust Sylvain is showing in him that makes his heart ache.    
  
“Good,” he says definitively, because he cannot voice what he is feeling. 

Sylvain seems to stare at him for a moment longer before he releases his grasp. Felix can feel the imprint of his hand. Sylvain can’t though, and he keeps moving forward. “Felix, do you think it could be something like— something like Monica?”

Monica: Kronya in disguise. If that is the truth, then what is the goal? Rodrigue already believes it. Not-Glenn could have already killed him. Felix— There are many things he may wish upon his father, but death is  _ never _ one of them.    
  
“No, I don’t think so. There are too many differences.” The weakness he feels. “Monica was solid. Glenn… Glenn didn’t feel normal. And with the memory thing— I think this is something else.”    
  


Sylvain’s quiet, and then he says something awful, which Felix really should have expected. “Is it possible… could the dead come back?” And because Sylvain has never  _ shut up  _ once in his life, he keeps talking. “I mean, just think about the weird things we’ve seen, Felix! The beast, the goddess— could you have your brother back?” His voice is so small as he says the last few words.

  
  


“Shut the hell up, Sylvain.” But it— him— Glenn— Felix thinks of the way it called him by his childhood nickname. The way he sounded just like him. Can he really have it? The ache in his chest, the weakness in his bones, the way memory distorted. These are not good things.    
  
Having Glenn back like this is not a good thing. 

Felix will repeat it until he believes it. 

“Let me ride with you to Gautier,” he says instead. “I can’t be around it. Even if— even if there is a possibility that you’re saying the truth. I don’t think it will harm Rodrigue.” Not when it already had the chance. But away from the castle, away from the memories, maybe he can think about the situation a little more clearly. “I’ll write a note explaining my absence.”   
  


“Okay,” Sylvain says, like he hadn’t just ridden here, like he is not tired from it at all. “We’ll go tonight.” Felix is fond of him, for that. 

It’s different than before. This time, the farther they get, the worse Felix feels. He hadn’t experienced it when he was out with the knights, but then again, they’d never really left Fraldarius. This time is different. This time, Felix feels like something is pulling him  _ back _ . 

It’s like a tether looped around his heart. He doesn’t say anything for a while. Except. The feeling grows and grows until it’s like something is  _ squeezing him _ . It’s painful. “Sylvain,” he says through gritted teeth, “stop.” 

“What is it?” Sylvain moves his steed until his close enough to Felix, facing him. “Do you need anything?”    
  
“It’s like there’s something pulling me. I don’t— I don’t know if I can make myself go farther forward. Let me ride with you.”

“Felix, if it’s-”   
  
“Shut up and help me on.” It hurts to admit such weakness, but Sylvain has been with him this far. Sylvain gets off his own horse to help Felix dismount and then help him back up once more on his own stallion. Sylvain ties the lead to Felix’s horse to his before he gets back on, adjusting Felix to rest against his chest. 

They ride on once again. They’re not much farther before Felix can no longer hide his pain and he cries out sharply as the tether  _ squeezes _ . 

“Felix! Tell me what’s wrong.”   
  
“It’s like a leash,” he grits out. “I’ll be fine. If— If we go far enough, it should snap.” 

Sylvain frowns, but he pushes the horse to keep moving. They’re going slower though, carefully. The feeling in his chest grows and grows, and Felix finds himself cold and hot, sweating even through his chill. 

“Felix, you don’t look good.”    
  
Felix doesn’t answer. He keeps his teeth ground together. One step further and Felix can no longer keep himself upright. He collapses back against Sylvain, breathing raggedly.

“Felix, answer me. Answer me, Felix!”    
  


Sylvain dismounts and takes Felix with him, cradling him in his arms. Felix can’t feel it. He can only feel that tight squeeze in his chest. It seems to choke out his lungs. He can’t remember taking a breath. He knows he must be, because he speaks, somehow.    
  
“Keep… going.”   
  
“Felix…” Sylvain says helplessly. “Felix, I need you with me. Do you know it will snap?”   
  
“Keep. Walking.”   
  
Sylvain squeezes him tighter, and he takes a step forward, leaving the horses this time. And another. And another. Felix  _ screams _ , a short, sharp yelp of pain, and Sylvain falls to his knees. “Felix, Felix, please, answer me. I can’t— You can’t get hurt.” He keeps going, desperate. “You can’t die. You look so bad, Felix. You can’t die.”   
  
“I’m not going to die, bas… bastard.” The words are weak, and Felix feels dizzy. He’s not sure where he is. “Need to get away fr’m… Glenn.” He knows it. He holds onto that. 

“Glenn—” Sylvain inhales. “He died. I remember that now, Felix. Glenn died, I went to his funeral. I didn’t— I couldn’t think of that, before.” He shakes his head, “I need to take you back. If we go farther... Felix— You might  _ die _ . I can’t… I can’t help you kill yourself. I can’t kill you.”    
  
Felix’s eyes flutter open, and it takes a minute to process the words. “Stop here,” he slurs. “We need to plan… while you remember.” 

Sylvain collapses to his knees and he holds Felix tight to his chest, as if he lets him go, Felix might fade away altogether. Felix isn’t sure Sylvain’s completely wrong. 

“We need… a plan.”    
  
“Felix…” Sylvain’s voice breaks on the word. Then he inhales, because someone needs to be strong, and Felix is so very weak right now. For him, Sylvain needs to push through. “If Glenn’s the source of this, then killing him might be enough to stop whatever is happening here. You said it was a leash. Someone has to be holding the other side.” He closes his eyes. “Even if I don’t remember Glenn’s death when we get back… If you tell me that you need me to kill him. I will, Felix.” He laughs, a horrible, desperate sound, cradling Felix’s head tightly. “I’ll do anything for you to live. Even if everyone else has to think that Glenn’s dying again, or for the first time, I don’t fucking care, even if you end up— hating me. Even that. I can’t let you die. I won’t let you.” 

“Okay,” Felix says, and it sounds small. “Okay. We’ll kill him. But. Maybe… Let me talk to him first.”   
  
“Okay,” Sylvain echoes, and Felix closes his eyes again. He’s not sure if he can believe it. But he trusts in Sylvain. 

As one, they turn back. Towards Fraldarius castle, and to Glenn. Sylvain helps him back onto his horse.

With every moment, Felix feels better in body but worse in mind. He thinks of Glenn helping him practice with his very first sword. “I’m… sleeping now,” he whispers hoarsely to Sylvain.

“Okay,” Sylvain says, “rest. I’ve got you.”

Felix wakes up in bed. His bed, he recognizes. The ceiling is stained just so, the hearth flickering away, and when he turns his head, he sees Sylvain collapsed on a chair next to his bedside. 

The first thing he says is, “Sylvain.” The second thing he says is, “Is Glenn here?” Felix tries to sit up then, but a wave of dizziness crashes over him. He tries to sit up anyway, and eventually manages to prop himself upright against the headboard.    
  
Sylvain blinks blearily at him. “Thank the goddess. You’re alright.” It’s soft, like he didn’t mean for Felix to hear it. “Are you feeling okay?”   
  
“No, but it doesn’t matter. How much do you remember?”   
  
“I remember enough,” Sylvain says, shaking the sleep from his body. “If it’s Glenn causing this— Felix, I swear. I don’t… He’s your brother. But Felix, I know… I know brothers aren’t all good. He should  _ never _ harm you. I’ll kill him, Felix.” Sylvain’s voice drips soft and deadly. “You don’t have to face it. I know, I know—”   
  
“Sylvain. Stop.” Felix huffs, but he knows now. Sylvain doesn’t remember Glenn’s death anymore. But he remembers their journey, and Felix’s weakness, and that’s enough for Sylvain. “I’m going to talk to him, I told you. Remember—” He inhales, and summons his strength. “Remember what I told you. This Glenn is some sort of— phantom. He’s not my brother. But I don’t think he’s… malicious. Let me speak to him. And after…” He closes his eyes. 

Returning his brother to his eternal rest. Felix knows now, how his father speaks of duty. It isn’t something he can leave to Sylvain, no matter how easy it might be. 

“Get Glenn for me.” He doesn’t say it’s because he doesn’t think he can move. 

When Sylvain returns, Felix isn’t sure how much time has passed. He can feel the seconds slipping away, and minutes blend and bleed into themselves. It felt like only a moment, but he knows it must have been longer. 

  
“Leave,” Felix says, though he knows Sylvain won’t listen. He sees him wait by the doorway instead.

“Fe… You look awful,” Glenn says, despairingly. “What happened to you?”   
  


He sounds so much like he cares. That’s what makes this worse. “Glenn,” Felix says. “You’re dead. You died six years ago.”   
  
“Felix,” Glenn says, “Father explained to me—”   
  
“Listen to me!” He yells, and his voice descends into deep, wracking coughs. “Glenn. Listen to me.”   
  
“Of course, Fe. I’m listening. Don’t strain yourself.” He meets Felix’s glare head-on. Felix has to look away first. 

“Help me stand.” He hadn’t planned on this but… it’s the only thing Felix can think of. He takes Glenn’s arm and shoulder, and he makes his way forward. His steps are slow and shuddering. All he can think of is that this time Glenn feels so much stronger. He even feels like his brother now. 

Sylvain’s steps are slow behind them. But Glenn looks at Felix, and Felix nods, and his brother says nothing. Felix isn’t nostalgic. But on his brother’s shoulders, communicating silently, makes him long for what was lost.

Glenn’s sharp inhale lets Felix know when he’s made the connection of where they’re headed. 

They enter the Fraldarius mausoleum. 

Right next to the memorial for their mother is one for Glenn. 

“Oh,” Glenn says, quietly. “I don’t— I don’t remember that.”   
  
“Neither does anyone else.” Felix shivers from sudden cold. “Do you believe me now? Everyone who has said you didn’t die is  _ lying _ .” Not lying, though, he thinks suddenly. Forced to remember something else. “How did you even get here?” 

“I… I remember waking up. Father was with me. I was in… I don’t remember. Some sort of church? I remember the sound of those damn birds… Cawing, over and over.” Glenn’s arm tightens around Felix. “Ravens, I think. I could barely move. Father carried me back.”

Felix remembers now, what his father had first said when he’d found him with Glenn. He hadn’t thought much of it then. But the way Rodrigue looked at him when he’d proclaimed Glenn’s death. His confusion over how he didn’t realize— that Felix would act like that, maybe? Could Rodrigue have known something? The thought is terrible to contemplate, but once he starts, Felix can’t stop. 

Maybe this really is his brother. Maybe his father had something to do with it. The knowledge sinks into him, much like a blade might. The knife twists. He doesn’t believe it. His father— He wouldn’t have traded his life for Glenn’s. He wouldn’t have done that. 

“Sylvain,” he calls out, his voice rough, “get my father.”   
  


When he’s alone with Glenn, Felix closes his eyes. He thinks of the last time Glenn had his arm around him like this. It was before he’d left for Duscur. Glenn had been teasing him. 

Glenn was always so brash around the other knights, but he always seemed to have a secret smile just for Felix.   
  
_“Come on, Felix,”_ _Glenn said, wrapping an arm around Felix’s shoulder and tugging him close. “I’ll be with the King and Queen_ — _a royal escort, how about that? Aren’t I the best brother? I’ll bring you back something from Duscur. What do you want?”_ _  
__  
__“You’re a meanie,” Felix replied profoundly, trying desperately to extricate himself from Glenn’s hold. His brother, living up to his title, had given him a noogie. He was too old for this now. “I don’t want nothing! When you come back, you can fight me. I’m going to be real good with the sword, just you wait.”_ _  
__  
__“Yeah, Fe.” Glenn had smiled at him. “I can’t wait.”_

“Glenn,” Felix says, “I don’t want to die. I can’t. There’s so much I need to do. Dimitri… I need to find him.”

“You won’t, Fe, I swear to it.” Glenn’s voice is so confident. 

It’s got to be wrong, trusting his brother, this shade of him. But Felix can’t help himself, not when he feels like he’s barely hanging on as is. 

Rodrigue arrives alone.    
  
“Felix!” He calls out. “Glenn. What are you two doing here?”   
  
“When were you going to tell me I died,  _ father _ ?” Glenn wields the word like a barb. “I have a gravestone. You brought me here. Why does no one think it strange that I returned from the dead?”   
  
“Glenn, no, that’s not it— please. Let’s come inside.”   
  
“I will not!” Glenn’s voice is louder now. “You have no right to act like this. Do you not see what’s happening to Felix? Is he not your living son?”   
  
Rodrigue turns  _ white _ . “Glenn, as your lord father, I command you. We will return to the castle at once.” 

  
“Felix is dying!” Glenn snarls. “Where did you find me? I’ve been feeling better and better— and Felix, worse and worse. Merely coincidence my ass! Something  _ has  _ to be done. And I’ll tear this place apart if need be. I’ve already died once, haven’t I?”   
  
“Felix…” Rodrigue turns to him, and Felix finds the power to focus on his father’s gaze. “I didn’t know. I swear on the goddess. I didn’t know. You must believe me.” 

“Then stop lying to our faces, father.” Glenn’s voice is bitter. “And tell us the truth.”   
  
“It… It wasn’t even supposed to be you, Glenn. We couldn’t find his Highness… Conventional ways were out. Fhirdiad had no signs…. If he was dead... I couldn’t fail. I had to do something.” Rodrigue shifts, and he looks so very guilty that Felix almost has to look away. “It was a ritual I found when I raided Fhirdiad. Stolen right from underneath Cornelia’s nose. It was supposed to guide a soul to a body. I assumed it could be used to guide us to Dimitri. Instead it brought Glenn— well. It brought something to life that night. It was only when it spoke… That I realized it was my son.” 

So, it was Glenn’s soul? Felix cannot keep his eyes open longer. He collapses, completely, in Glenn’s arms. 

“Felix— Felix! Wake up!”   
  
Time fragments. There is a time where he opens his eyes to Glenn yelling at Rodrigue. “Did you think there was no  _ cost _ ? That this fool’s ritual of yours had no  _ price?” _

Sylvain is there, at some point, fire-haired and cold-blooded, and he’s sick with venom. “Felix not good enough for you? He would have given anything to find Dimitri, so you make him give his own life? Give me the fucking ritual book. Let me look.”   
  
“Felix, I’m sorry.”   
  
He opens his eyes at some point to someone stroking his hair. Felix’s eyes meet Glenn’s. “Rest now, Felix. And remember. I am so, so proud of you. I am with you always. I love you, Felix.”

The midday sun wakens him once more. This time, he feels overwarm. Felix stretches and it feels  _ good _ . He can remember in bits and pieces. Had they figured something out?

“You’re awake,” Sylvain says, and he condenses the world into that statement. As if Felix’s very presence has given him a gift above all else. “Felix… I’m sorry.” He shifts onto the bed, pulling Felix into his arms. 

Felix knows what it means. 

His tears are weak at first. They roll down his cheeks in wayward streams, spilling out onto Sylvain’s chest. They make way for deeper sobs, but nothing seems to lift the weight in his heart. 

From the doorway, a man with blue-black hair watches. 

**Author's Note:**

> i had two alt endings also planned... then i ran out of time. ;o;  
> I may or may not go back and include the 'Bad End' and the 'Really Bad End' versions of this. 
> 
> i would have *loved* to somehow put some dimitri in this.


End file.
